


Wings on Fire

by SugarsweetRomantic



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Aromantic Emma Whitmore, Bisexual Lucy Preston, F/F, Let Lucy Preston Love a Lady, Minor Wyatt Logan/Lucy Preston, Post-Season/Series 01, Season/Series 01-02 Hiatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23648812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarsweetRomantic/pseuds/SugarsweetRomantic
Summary: Stepping out of body // No matter what you call it // I'm a kamikaze // Abandon all your logic // And put your money on it // I'm a kamikaze
Relationships: Lucy Preston/Emma Whitmore
Comments: 8
Kudos: 5





	Wings on Fire

“Hey Princess, feel like playing a game?” The question comes as a surprise to Lucy in the otherwise silent office, currently masking as a makeshift cell. The door is open, but both she and Emma know that if she even thinks of attempting a breakout, Rittenhouse security will be pinning her to the ground within seconds. Actually, come to think of it, Emma would probably be able to do that herself as well if she wanted to.

“What kind of game?” she replies. She's not in the mood for tricks right now, but after weeks of being stuck here, she's incredibly bored. Judging from the mindless way Emma has been flipping through a magazine for the past hour, she's not the only one. 

“Historical fuck, marry, kill?” 

Lucy feels like a cartoon character blinking at the camera before falling down a ravine, but she nods anyway and confirms: “Alright.”

“Men? Women?” That's...surprisingly considerate of a woman who's supposed to be her sworn enemy.

“Any. You?”

“Women.” There's a sense of confidence to Emma's reply, and something inside of Lucy respects it. Call it solidarity in queer oppression, an unexpected bout of intersectional feminism or just plain loneliness, but it's there.

“Alright. Lily Elsie, Marie Doro, Aida Overton Walker.” All Edwardian. All women. Your turn, Emma; you open up first. Lucy watches as Emma sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and grabs her phone, entering a query into Google Images.

“Hold on; I don't remember what Marie Doro looked like.” She brings up an image of the actress and hums softly. “Marry Marie, fuck Aida, kill Lily.”

“Why Lily?” Lucy can't help but inquire.

“Child star. Probably high and mighty. Your turn, Princess. Robert Todd Lincoln, Josephine Baker, Judith Campbell.” As images of all three enter her mind, Lucy can feel her lips separating slightly.

“You're killing me here,” she admits, and she actually chuckles. “Uh…” She hesitates before confirming: “Kill Robert, marry Josephine, fuck Judith.” Emma smirks.

“Good taste.”

“You're just saying that because I picked the women,” Lucy replies, pulling her legs onto the couch and folding them underneath her. 

“Maybe,” Emma responds, grinning. “You're up. Hit me with your best shot.”

\--

Emma tastes of peppermint and lemon.

She doesn't do romance, Lucy quickly learns. She doesn't like cuddling, though she's fine with Lucy burying herself in a blanket next to her and resting in her lap. 

She enjoys lighthearted debates. She plays the guitar, and sings along when she thinks no-one's within earshot. 

She's silent when she climaxes; her eyes screwed shut and her lips parted.

\--

"You're dating Nicholas." It's not an accusation -- it's a statement. A fact. Lucy's voice is quiet as she suggests it, almost like a prayer. Emma nods. "You're not going to deny it?"

"I can't deny the truth." It's a stab to the heart. Lucy sighs and picks her book back up. "It was you or me."

"What are you talking about?" 

"She was going to…" Emma lets out a grunt in frustration. "You know what, never mind. I'll see you at dinner." 

Dinner never comes. 

That night, Lucy's back in the bunker. Alone.

\--

Writhing against her own hand, Lucy searches for friction, for release, alone in a strange room.

"You're dating Wyatt?" 

It's more of an accusation than a question, and against the silence of Hedy Lamarr's guest room, it sounds like a gunshot. Wyatt left her after he finished and she pretended to have, to go discuss something with Rufus.

"So?" Lucy counters, without even attempting to question how the redhead managed to sneak onto the premises. "At least I know it's only me he's sleeping with." Emma winces visibly, before nodding towards the hand that's still moving between muscular thighs, covers long forgotten in the California heat.

"Doesn't seem like he satisfied you all that much now did he?" Emma's on top of her within the blink of an eye, her strong hand covering Lucy's while the other pins her free wrist to the mattress. "Maybe I ought to lend you a hand, hm?" The redhead pauses, looking into her eyes. Looking for  _ permission _ , Lucy realises. 

"Please," she whispers against Emma's lips, and the pilot immediately begins an assault on her senses that leaves her panting breathlessly. 

Hours after Emma leaves, when Wyatt slides back into bed with her, she still feels a pleasant ache and slickness between her legs. She doesn't wash it off; doesn't want to. It's one of the few things that feel real these days. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this quite a while ago, and I'm not sure whether I should continue it, so...let me know what you thought?


End file.
